Although I certainly didn’t mind whenever they did show up. I adored men in uniform. I found the symbolism of their attire in relation to their position of power extremely sexy.

Later that afternoon, Wheeler’s friend rang my bell to hand me the keys to my Trans Am. Since he’d replaced my tires, I paid him. I guessed every man had “a guy” he could call on a whim who would perform random requests without question.

Sitting around the apartment with a wolf who loved gothic movies wasn’t my idea of a good time, so I decided a wax would be less painful to endure. Wheeler offered to drive, and I couldn’t help but smile as we pulled up to the shop and I saw the look of objection on his face when he read the sign.

Suffice it to say, he waited in the car.

For Shifters, a good Brazilian wax requires no special care afterward. A quick shift in the bathroom heals up any skin irritation and we’re no worse for wear. Luckily my panther was a cooperative girl, but I still went to my usual Breed shop.

After a detailed wax and sprucing up in the bathroom, I headed out to the car feeling refreshed and smooth. The sun warmed my bare shoulders, and Wheeler was snoozing in his Camaro with the windows down.

“Miss me?” I asked, slamming the door shut.

He had a stick of beef jerky in his mouth, his head reclined and eyes closed. Wheeler had a large Adam’s apple, and I had an impulsive temptation to run my finger across it.

“Did you get your lady parts all taken care of?”

“Baby smooth. Wanna touch?”

His head bobbed up and he shifted in his seat, stepping on the clutch and firing up the engine. “Is this the fun I have to look forward to for the next week?”

I set my purse on the floor. “Would you rather I be doing something more dangerous to keep things exciting?”

He bit off the end of his stick and chewed. “Maybe.”

An old man with a poodle lollygagged in front of the car, looking around as if searching for someone. I stroked my bottom lip with my finger, contemplating something Reno had mentioned about Delgado orchestrating the kidnappings. The only problem was he didn’t have evidence to support his theory.

“Take me back to work,” I said.

Wheeler scratched his short beard. “I thought you were off?”

I touched my hair, playing with a dark curl. “I’m going to break into someone’s office. How’s that for a little danger?”

He threw the car in gear and scared the old man with a rev of his engine. “Say no more.”

“I would have never taken you for the kind who looks for trouble.” And I wasn’t being sarcastic. Lexi had always described Wheeler as the brains in the family—a former financial advisor who used to work for high-and-mighty immortals. But I couldn’t figure him out. Intellectual men weren’t usually thrill seekers, and vice versa. So who was the real Wheeler?